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Rasping breaths preceded the click-clack of a keyboard. In the background, Conrad demanded, “Is something wrong?”
“She’s fine—kind of,” Beau told the agent. “Rolex is fine too, Jane. He’s sitting at the living room window, guarding the porch. And no one dug up anything. The cameras aren’t showing any holes.”
Okay. All right. No murder. Maybe. “I am steaming again. Absolutely steaming! By the way, I might be dying of a coffee induced heart attack.”
With a commanding tone, he told her, “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you, all right. It was Abigail and Landon.” Jane flew along the town streets, faster and faster, yet her target still managed to get lost amid the other cars. Argh! She wove in and out of traffic, the wind kicking up. Dirt thickened the air.
“Jane. Continue.”
“He was wandering the cemetery with a shovel, Beau. A shovel. As if the families of the dearly departed haven’t been traumatized enough. Abigail is the getaway driver, but not a very good one.” Jane punched at her horn.
“You are chasing them in the hearse?” Beau bellowed. “After drinking Ana’s coffee?”
“She’s what?” Conrad roared.
“Was I supposed to let the digging monsters escape?” she snapped.
Conrad must have snatched the phone from Beau, because he barked, “Pull over this second or I swear I’ll—”
“I’m hanging up now,” Jane said as she clicked the proper button, because hanging up without notice was rude.
Only a couple seconds later, her phone rang. Caller ID revealed Conrad’s number. If she answered, he would only order her to back down again, not yet understanding that a real potential boyfriend would help her destroy her enemies, not encourage her to show mercy. And the Kirklands were her enemies. If they hadn’t dug up a body, they’d planted evidence. Guaranteed. They must have killed Ana and thought to frame Jane to get her out of the way.
This was a declaration of war.
A new call came in. Conrad again. Persistent agent.
Jane refused to answer this time too. Now wasn’t the time to explain the ins and outs to Dating 101. When she caught up to Abigail and Landon, she would… she...Argh! She was too furious to decide. Nothing sounded violent enough. But, as she honked her horn again, swerving to avoid an oncoming car, her heartbeat began to slow. She yawned, growing very tired, very fast.
Coming down from her caffeine high? She reached for the cup only to pause, rational thought intruding. A car chase in public, without backup? Seriously? Who did that? Especially when the chaser knew where the chasees lived.
What if she’d harmed a stray animal? Like, say, one of Rolex’s relatives? Her fury deflated—no, not true. It redirected, focusing solely on herself, and she eased her foot from the pedal.
A siren blasted behind her as she eased into her next turn. She glanced at the rearview mirror. Red and blue lights flashed. Had the boys phoned the sheriff? Good thinking. No doubt the man needed to get her statement before arresting the Waynes. Maybe he’d even let her tag along and watch. She yawned again. Maybe he’d call her and tell her all about it.
Jane flipped her blinker, slowed, and parked on the side of the road. The wind died, and she looked around. Prospect Street. The Prospect Lodge B&B sat to her right, the outdoor coffee bar brimming with curious guests.
The sheriff parked behind her, emerged from his vehicle, and approached. Sunlight glinted off his sweat-glistened head. His full silver beard, broad shoulders and barrel chest usually brought nothing but comfort. He was a good man who’d always taken care of the citizens he protected. Today, she only wished to shake him.
She leaned out, saying, “Here’s what happened.”
“Let me stop you there, because I don’t care.” At her side, he crossed his arms over his white button-up. Sunglasses shielded his eyes. He chewed on a toothpick. “You put innocent lives in danger, Jane.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry! I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll never drink Ana’s coffee either. Unless there’s an emergency. Anyway. I’d just realized Rolex could have a parent or sibling roaming around out here. I’m not sure I could forgive myself if I’d hurt one of his family members.”
She imagined hitting a bird, feathers flying everywhere. Hosting a dog or cat funeral for a gentle animal who’d only wanted a few hugs. Or having to face a mother raccoon who’d just lost her children, thanks to Jane’s actions.
“That’s not—never mind.” The sheriff scoured a hand over his weary features. “If you’d hit another car, Jane. Someone could have died.”
She shrank into her seat, the gravity of the situation suddenly hitting her full force. Died. The word echoed in her head. One syllable. Four letters. A thousand needles in her galloping heart. He was right. Her reckless actions could have led to a tragic end. Any of those people could have had a pet in their vehicle. Strays weren’t the only fur-babies around.
